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The Stars My Destination ( Tiger! Tiger! ) :: Bester Alfred
Страница: 82 из 164To the rest of the world Foyle became a blur of action. He side-stepped the blow inching toward him, walked around the man, raised him and threw him toward the crater in the living room. He threw the second man after the first jackal. To Foyle's accelerated senses their bodies seemed to drift slowly, still in mid-stride, fists inching forward, open mouths emitting heavy clotted sounds.
Foyle whipped to the woman cowering in the bed.
«Wsthrabdy?» the blur asked.
The woman shrieked.
Foyle pressed his upper incisors again, cutting off the acceleration. The external world shook itself out of slow motion back to normal. Sound and color leaped up the spectrum and the two jackals disappeared through the crater and crashed into the apartment below.
«Was there a body?» Foyle repeated gently. «A Negro girl?» The woman was unintelligible. He took her by the hair and shook her, then hurled her through the crater in the living room floor.
His search for a clue to Robin's fate was interrupted by the mob from the hall. They carried torches and makeshift weapons. The Jack-jaunters were not professional killers. They only worried defenseless prey to death. «Don't bother me,» Foyle warned quietly, ferreting intently through closets and under overturned furniture.
They edged closer, goaded by a ruffian in a mink suit and a tricornered hat, and inspired by the curses percolating up from the floor below. The man in the tricorne threw a torch at Foyle. It burned him. Foyle accelerated again and the Jack-jaunters were transformed into-living statues. Foyle picked up half a chair and calmly clubbed the slow-motion figures. They remained upright. He thrust the man in the tricorne down on the floor and knelt on him. Then he decelerated.
Again the external world came to life. The jackals dropped in their tracks, pole-axed. The man in the tricorne hat and mink suit roared.
«Was there a body in here?» Foyle asked. «Negro girl. Very tall. Very beautiful.»
The man writhed and attempted to gouge Foyle's eyes.
«You keep track of bodies,» Foyle said gently. «Some of you Jacks like dead girls better than live ones. Did you find her body in here?»
Receiving no satisfactory answer, he picked up a torch and set fire to the mink suit. He followed the Jack-jaunter into the living room and watched him with detached interest. The man howled, toppled over the edge of the crater and flamed down into the darkness below.
«Was there a body?» Foyle called down quietly. He shook his head at the answer. «Not very deft,» he murmured. «I've got to learn how to extract information.
Foyle whipped to the woman cowering in the bed.
«Wsthrabdy?» the blur asked.
The woman shrieked.
Foyle pressed his upper incisors again, cutting off the acceleration. The external world shook itself out of slow motion back to normal. Sound and color leaped up the spectrum and the two jackals disappeared through the crater and crashed into the apartment below.
«Was there a body?» Foyle repeated gently. «A Negro girl?» The woman was unintelligible. He took her by the hair and shook her, then hurled her through the crater in the living room floor.
His search for a clue to Robin's fate was interrupted by the mob from the hall. They carried torches and makeshift weapons. The Jack-jaunters were not professional killers. They only worried defenseless prey to death. «Don't bother me,» Foyle warned quietly, ferreting intently through closets and under overturned furniture.
They edged closer, goaded by a ruffian in a mink suit and a tricornered hat, and inspired by the curses percolating up from the floor below. The man in the tricorne threw a torch at Foyle. It burned him. Foyle accelerated again and the Jack-jaunters were transformed into-living statues. Foyle picked up half a chair and calmly clubbed the slow-motion figures. They remained upright. He thrust the man in the tricorne down on the floor and knelt on him. Then he decelerated.
Again the external world came to life. The jackals dropped in their tracks, pole-axed. The man in the tricorne hat and mink suit roared.
«Was there a body in here?» Foyle asked. «Negro girl. Very tall. Very beautiful.»
The man writhed and attempted to gouge Foyle's eyes.
«You keep track of bodies,» Foyle said gently. «Some of you Jacks like dead girls better than live ones. Did you find her body in here?»
Receiving no satisfactory answer, he picked up a torch and set fire to the mink suit. He followed the Jack-jaunter into the living room and watched him with detached interest. The man howled, toppled over the edge of the crater and flamed down into the darkness below.
«Was there a body?» Foyle called down quietly. He shook his head at the answer. «Not very deft,» he murmured. «I've got to learn how to extract information.